The Runaway Cat
by Dark Arts Rising
Summary: Yin and Yang. Heaven and Hell. Sherlock Holmes and James Moriarty. That's all the dualism mankind ever needed. But there is another side to James' life, with black fur and a mind of his own: Shade, the hunter, the black cat that could but doesn't talk to dimwits. If he decides to leave and side with James' best enemy, how will Moriarty cope? Not meant too seriously, as always.


**A/N:**

**Hello folks, this is another story about the world's one and only consulting cat Shade. Shade, of course, belongs to Dark Magical Sorcres, and she is gracious and selfless enough to share him with me (Merdelaors), as I've got two black cats myself.**

**A cat as formidable as Shade naturally needs a master (or rather: butler, as it is common knowledge that dogs do have masters, but cats do employ staff) as formidable as James Moriarty. Who tends to be a lone hunter, just as every decent cat should be.**

**So, please enjoy and – pretty please – remember the review button.**

**A cat's work**

James Moriarty was sleeping peacefully, as it had been a rough day, full of crime, murder, blackmail and other profitable but somewhat dull enjoyments.

Shade looked at his master (that was what James thought, anyway) aka associate and friend (that was what Shade knew was true).

The black tomcat, lazily licking his shining fur, contemplated the nature of this human.

This was the result: The James Moriarty Profile, drawn up by the person who knew him best: His cat.

The man was less dull than most, with moments of a mental capacity that almost (just almost, of course) seemed to match felidae brilliance of mind. Good looking, for a human. Slender, sleek, with black eyes and fine, strong yet gentle hands.

Hands are very important in a human who dreams of gaining a cat's approval. Hands are necessary to stroke a fur, to rub a nose, to tickle a velvet paw – oh, every decent cat could write a scientific study on human hands.

So, James was clever (clever enough, anyway, as Shade wasn't, in his own mind, a very particular fellow), had good hands, and he was rich.

Rich is important, for fluffy beds, and warm rooms, and decent food do not come from nothing in the bank.

The tip of Shade's tail twitched angrily when his thoughts had come that far.

So what that James was a Consulting Criminal! The money had to come from _somewhere_, didn't it?

At the end of the day, Shade cared deeply for him and that was the only thing that really counted.

Suddenly Shade pricked up his ears.

James tossed around in the bed. Was he having a nightmare? That wasn't at all acceptable. Sleepy humans in the morning made for bad friends in the evenings!

So, as any cat would do, Shade walked gracefully over to James, went down beside him and laid his head on the human's chest. As expected, Moriarty calmed down at once.

Once the man had settled down, Shade supressed a sigh of relief. Really, a cat's work was never done!

The tom rose, went back to the foot of the bed and, for good measure and just to be on the safe side, he began nuzzling the naked foot. It twitched once or twice, and James moaned blissfully in his sleep.

Now, finally, Shade thought it safe to have a little nap himself.

Once James awoke the next morning, Shade greeted him eagerly. Had last night's wellness offensive been a success? "Good morning, master. Did you sleep well?" he asked with a purring voice.

Same as any human Shade had ever known, James was prickly when it came to his status in their relationship. Therefore, at least in the mornings, Shade thought it best to humour him.

Jim smiled, patted his cat's ears and ruffled the fur in the perpetually itching spot between the shoulder blades, which even the most agile of cats cannot reach with his paws or tongue. "Well, it was an almost satisfying night's rest" Moriarty said "Good morning to you too, you four legged monster."

James headed to the bathroom. Shade wasn't quick enough, the door was closed into his indignant face. He snarled angrily, but not very loudly. Wet rooms weren't an issue worth spoiling what might still turn out to be a perfect day.

"Are we going out today?" Shade asked through the door.

"Yes, _**I**_ am going out today" Jim answered. Shade then heard the water run, making it perfectly clear that Jim considered the matter closed. "So, when should your obedient slaves dare to expect your return, oh most august master?" the cat growled irritably as soon as James emerged from the bathroom, dressed in his red bathing gown.

"Oh, I don't know really" Moriarty retorted lightheartedly. "It depends on how long it takes to play a game with a certain Mr Sherlock Holmes."

Shade retched up at once. He always did when James said that name. As a precaution, just in case he needed to retch on a moment's notice, Shade ate the flowers from the piano every morning when Jim began to stir. "Be prepared" was the tom's motto, and it was a good one.

"Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock, that's all I hear from you these days" Shade miaowed desperately. "You neglect me. I'm a cat, I'm sensitive! Cats do have feelings, you brute."

Shade rolled on his back, stretched his four legs up in the air, the paws prettily drawn in, and showed his belly. An irresistible appeal to caress the softest fur possible on the planet earth. He looked adorable in this pose; it was his best act, as he well knew.

And James relented at once. "Moran will look after you for the day" he said consolingly. Shade would have liked to close his eyes and purr, he always enjoyed the gentle massage of his tummy so very much. But there was, of course, no time for this right now.

"Moran" the tom hissed. "What do I care about him? Why do you not take me? Am I not your friend anymore? I've never seen a Consulting Detective!"

"No, and there's an end to it" James replied, and ended the tummy-massage abruptly. He began looking for a suit in the closet. He took out two different suits and showed them to the cat. "Which one, eh? Blue or black, what do you think?"

Angrily Shade lifted his paw and pointed at nothing in particular, yet James nodded, obviously satisfied. "The black one it will be." Moriarty dressed and admired himself in the mirror. "You're right, Shade, as always. This is perfect for the occasion."

"Which occasion?" Shade growled. "You look like an undertaker!"

"Exactly" Jim said. "My clever little furry-bear. It's perfect for a funeral, don't you think?"

That electrified Shade. "A funeral?" he asked, rolling to his feet in no time at all. "Whose funeral?"

But as Jim closed the door behind him and walked down the stairs, he only laughed.


End file.
